Wet Paint and Chipped Clay
by Harrison642
Summary: Highschool AU. Ludwig only wandered in to stay with his friend before they both went home. He certainly wasn't really expecting to have to try his hand at something he was completely unfamiliar with, nor the outcome of the odd, but not necessarily unwelcome, events that followed. Username changed from Harrison642


– _**Wet Paint and Chipped Clay –**_

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_Warnings: None_

_Genre: Humour, Romance_

_Author's Note: A request on Tumblr that I wanted to put up here. Ludwig's a bit of a dorky sap in this – as a teenager I guess he would be a little less stoic and a little bit more relaxed since, yanno, he **is** a teenager. Not an upright and strict twenty-something year old who spends his time behind a desk crunching numbers and every other moment going to the gym._

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_**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**_

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Ludwig hasn't been in the art rooms for a while, not since he started his coursework in other subjects. Not much has changed – it still smells like wet paint and is just a little bit dusty, but the displays are different. He feels a bit overwhelmed for a moment; so many of the works on display are so impressive and he cannot help but feel a little envious. He has never been very good at being artistic or creative; he prefers numbers and logic and order to the impulsive creativity of being an artist.

Of course, Feliciano is already there – he spends so much time in these small, dusty rooms that Ludwig often smells paint rather than his cologne when they stand closer than what could be considered normal and can often feel the crumbs of dried clay in the creases of his palm when Ludwig finds the Italian's hand linked with his or brushing across his cheek. His posture relaxes and a small, barely there smile lights up his eyes as he walks over to the brown-haired boy. It looks almost auburn in the bright sunlight.

The smile on Feliciano's lips lights up his whole face when he turns and sees Ludwig, wrapping his arms around the taller boy's middle and pressing a kiss to each cheek. There's no blush staining Ludwig's cheeks, but he still looks a tad bit embarrassed as he presses his own kisses to the other boy's cheeks and rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. He is much too used to this kind of affection to get too embarrassed anymore.

But as his embarrassment starts to get the better of him, Ludwig steps back and lets his bag slide from his shoulder and onto the table. He pulls out a chair to sit on as Feliciano starts to set up a canvas and some paints, a large smile curving the corners of his mouth as he talks. Ludwig smiles softly, sitting so he can rest his arms on the back of the chair, his legs wide to accommodate it.

Feliciano taps his knee affectionately as he walks past, more bottles of paint in hand, and Ludwig hides his growing smile in the fold of his arms atop the chair.

It takes a while for Feliciano to set up his equipment before he slowly stops talking and starts to sketch. His hand moves quickly across the canvas, sketching something rough and light onto the bright white surface. Ludwig watches silently, slowly piecing together the parts of the image into something he recognises as one of the trees outside the window. If he did not posses such a severe expression, one could almost say that he watches the Italian boy in an awestruck, owlish manner. The lower half of his face is still hidden by his arms and the smile that stretches his lips in an uncharacteristic fashion remains hidden.

They stay like that for a while, Ludwig watching and studying the graceful movement of the Italian in front of him, until Feliciano stops, a small sound of thought escaping his lips. He puts down his pencil and turns to Ludwig, wringing his hands excitedly and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He request startles Ludwig and he has to ask the Italian to repeat himself. Ludwig, have a hand at painting? The young blonde shakes his head, quickly explaining his lack of skill for such creative tasks. Feliciano whines, walking until he's stood directly in front of the German. He crosses his arms over his chest and fixes Ludwig with a puppy-dog stare and a pout to match.

It takes a second, maybe two, before Ludwig caves and stands up. He tugs his jumper over his head and folds it neatly to lie on the table. He tries to ignore the flash of warmth at Feliciano's delighted expression as the Italian runs to fetch another apron.

He hasn't ever been good with paint, even as a small child, so Ludwig stands and considers the colourful pallet in front of him for a second before glancing uncertainly at Feliciano. The other boy cannot stifle a laugh at the adorable lost expression on Ludwig's face, but he manages to suppress the urge to say what he thinks aloud. Pale cheeks flush as Ludwig turns back to the canvas, looks to the tree outside and finally dips his paintbrush into the paint. At once, Feliciano shakes his head, explains that Ludwig only needs a _little_ bit of paint and, as an afterthought, that he has to be gentle with the brush.

It's a disaster. Although Ludwig is good with wood and machines, he does not possess the gentle touch of a painter. The stroke is too ridged, the paint too thick and the press of the brush is too hard. Ludwig sighs, not really that surprised, and not at all bothered about giving in (although it is never usually in his nature to back down from a challenge). However, Feliciano is determined, and he moves to stand just behind the other, reaching along the length of Ludwig's arm and settling his hand over the German's.

Ludwig almost chokes, the tips of his ears turning pink at the sudden touch. But Feliciano is on a mission and doesn't notice Ludwig's embarrassment as he directs the hand under his for a gentler, more fluid brush across the canvas and chatters happily in the German's ear. When he speaks, Ludwig can feel the rush of air on the back of his neck, and when he moves closer to make both of their movements easier, Ludwig can feel the steady rise-and-fall of Feliciano's chest pressing against his back. Something strange coils in Ludwig's chest and he feels suddenly hot, becoming rigid under Feliciano's guidance.

It takes a moment, a rather long and awkward moment, for Feliciano to realise that Ludwig isn't listening. It doesn't take much longer for him to piece together why. Then, after several more long and tense and incredibly awkward moments, he decides that pressing a soft, careful kiss to the side of Ludwig's neck is a good idea.

It so turns out that, maybe, that wasn't such a good idea since Ludwig's surprise is expressed as a rather sudden and jolted line across the length of the canvas and a _very _surprised and very,_ very _embarrassed yelp.


End file.
